


The Doomed Lovers

by Plodder



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Halloween, Hopeful Ending, Horror, I don't want to give too much away, I'm Sorry Padme, M/M, Mystery, Well it doesn't take place on Halloween but its written in the spirit of it, ghost story, ghost story au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-23 20:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12516224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plodder/pseuds/Plodder
Summary: Ben Kenobi inherits a cottage on the moors after his uncle dies, something straight out of a Brontë novel. He decides to stay there for a while so he can write his book in peace and quiet.  Everything changes when he meets a mysterious stranger out in the mist and starts to learn why no one else has been able to stay there long...





	1. The standing stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been reading some classic ghost stories lately and wanted to try my hand at writing one. We'll see how it goes!

“You’ll have to walk out to the Doomed Lovers, my lad.”

Ben looked up from his notes to see the innkeeper’s wife carrying a plate of Yorkshire Pudding served with beef and potatoes and a mug of beer, smiling at him gently. She was a large, jovial, pink-cheeked lady, the kind one commonly sees at places like this. Ben had just arrived at Lady’s Veil, a town aptly named for the constant low mist that covered the ground. 

His late uncle had left him and his mother a cottage out on the moors, one with the equally fanciful name of ‘Maiden’s Rest’. He’d decided that it would be a good place to work on his book during his sabbatical from the College, where he taught classics. After a long train ride, he thought it’d be best to fortify himself at the town’s inn before trudging out on the moors. 

“Oh?” Ben said, curious as to what the ‘Doomed Lovers’ was. 

“Pair of standing stones out near the lake. There’s a path from Maiden’s Rest, round the back.” 

“I shall have to, it sounds lovely.” He did plan to do some walking and hoped to explore a little. 

“Tis, love. Are you sure you want to stay out there alone? It’s an uncanny, odd sort of place. We’d take good care of you here at the inn, sweet little thing that you are.”

Ben smiled gently. “I’m sure it will be fine. I’d like some quiet for a spell, it helps with my writing.”

“The Clarkes are taking care of you, I hear. The missus is an excellent cook,” she replied, crossing her arms about her considerable bosom.

“Yes, they will be keeping house for me.”

“Well, I won’t keep you from your lunch. You’re welcome here any time, dear lad.” With that, she trotted off, back to the kitchen. 

Ben tucked in to his excellent lunch, rich, fragrant, and filling. His uncle had been a strange, silent sort, and Ben had avoided his company as a child. After his death, his mother had tried to rent the cottage a few times, but the tenants had never stayed long. Ben supposed the moors could be an eerie place, and who would want to live in Lady’s Veil? There were few amenities. 

He finished his lunch, grabbed his bag, and headed out. The majority of his things, including his typewriter, had been delivered before him and received by the Clarkes. Hopefully it would all be there and ready. Looking around at the edges of the small town, he realized that there would be no shortage of solitude.

It was spring and still quite cool, with a sun rarely potent enough to burn off the mist. The mist was dense today, more of a fog, and he could see very little ahead of him on the path to the cottage. The ground crunched under his feet and he could hear a few songbirds calling, sounding strangely mournful. He fancied that he kept getting glimpses of someone ahead of him on the path; a man, taller than his own modest height, dressed in dark clothes. 

Maybe it was Mr. Clarke? He tried calling out to him, but then the man disappeared, almost dissolving into the mist. He shivered and looked forward to starting a fire, pants’ legs damp from the sodden underbrush. 

Ben didn’t notice the cottage till it was right in front of him, looming unannounced out of the ground, like it had risen up of its own accord. It was of middling size with grey stone walls and a tiled roof. There was a gate in front of him, bracketing a low, crumbling fence that was in all likelihood older than the house. Empty rose bushes framed the doorway. 

He entered into a large open room, with a fire burning in the hearth. The walls were painted a fresh white, ceilings rung with dark beamed wood. A note sat on the kitchen table welcoming him to Lady’s Veil and proclaiming that the Clarkes would come Monday and Thursday to do any cleaning or upkeep and stock the larder. They hoped everything was set up to his liking. 

He sat his bag down and explored. The kitchen was bright and airy. Upstairs, a small bedroom overlooking the moors was set up as an office in which sat his typewriter. His things had been set up in the largest bedroom, which had a view of the back garden, at least what he could see of it. 

Ben puttered about for the rest of the day, organizing his things and exploring the house. In the other spare bedroom, he found a framed picture of a beautiful woman with long dark hair, luminous brown eyes, and a wistful expression. He recognized her as his late uncle’s wife. She had some kind of exotic name, what was it? Fatima? Paloma? No Padme, that was it. He knew that she’d disappeared about 10 years ago and his uncle had fallen into despair. 

Movement caught his eye and he looked out the window. Past the yard, he spied a glimpse of the same tall, dark figure he had seen out on the moors. It seemed to look up at him, then turned and walked into the mist. Curious to know who this stranger was, Ben ran down the stairs and out the back door. Dusk was starting to fall and a chorus of frogs continued their spring peeping. He called out to the figure, presumably a man, but he was gone and didn’t answer. Ben went back inside and passed a quiet but unsettled evening. 

A week went by, and Ben settled into his new existence. He met the Clarkes, who were quite a lovely couple in their early sixties. Mr. Clarke was shorter than him and dressed in a tan coat. He was certainly not the figure Ben had spied in the mist. He supposed the mystery of it all was quite romantic. 

Ben developed a routine of writing and then wandering around the paths surrounding the cottage. There was a lake not too far away, with still water stained dark with rotting plant material and bracken. On cool mornings, the fog seemed to be rising directly from it, as if it were the source of the ever-present veil. 

An old wooden dock sat forlorn in the waters, with no boat moored to it. He tried to walk out on it, but it was slippery and made ominous creaking sounds. There was something about the dark, still water that was vaguely disturbing and somewhat unsettling. He found he didn’t linger when he was near the lake. 

Ben eventually made it out to the ‘Doomed Lovers’. They were a pair of large, grey standing stones, covered in moss and lichen. They appeared to be leaning toward each other, even only an inch apart in places, but never actually touching. He supposed the name was fitting, if overly romantic.

He turned around and started to walk back, but stopped in his tracks. There was the figure again, his mysterious man. He was closer this time, now clearly a young man with dirty blonde hair, collar of a dark coat pulled up about his jaw. He looked directly at Ben, fine-featured face solemn. 

“Hello there!” Ben called out. 

The man slowly turned and walked away into the fog, disappearing from sight. Ben followed after him but saw no further trace, as if he had never been there. 

It was now Thursday, and Mrs. Clarke was there when he returned to the cottage, tidying up and baking some kind of pie. She’d already roasted a chicken and some vegetables, which he’d probably be eating for a week. She seemed to think about five people lived there, not one. 

“Oh there you are, love. All that walking’s put some color into your cheeks. Have some tea?” 

“Yes, that would be wonderful.” He sat down at the kitchen table and pondered the day’s events. 

“Is there a young man that lives around these parts about half a hand taller than me, rather handsome, sort of blondish hair? Wears a dark coat?” 

Mrs. Clarke looked at him thoughtfully. “Not that I can think of, chick. There are only a few young men in this town, and none of them look like that. Maybe a visitor at the inn?” 

“Maybe,” Ben replied, but that didn’t seem right. 

That evening the electricity flickered a few times. The service was quite unreliable out here, per Mrs. Clarke. He thought he’d best light a candle, but where to find one? He rummaged through the kitchen drawers and found matches, but no candles. Perhaps down in the cellar? 

Ben made his way down the stairs and explored a bit. He did find a box of beeswax candles but also discovered something odd, a padlocked door. Given the size of the cellar in relation to the house, it couldn’t just be to the outside. Curious. 

Ben brought his candles upstairs and lit one. He found the ring of keys for the cottage in the kitchen and went back downstairs. There had to be a draft near the door, as it was strangely cold. With shaking hands, he tried each one. None of them fit. 

The following morning, he felt an urge to get out of the cottage and walk. He’d slept fitfully and was strangely agitated. He walked back out to the Doomed Lovers, hearing the far off piping of water birds. The stones dwarfed him, and he reached out to touch the taller of the two. It was rough and pitted without inscription or mark. Were they natural or had someone put them there long, long ago? 

He turned around and there was his mysterious man, standing close enough to touch. He’d approached without making a sound. Tall and willowy, his features were even and fair, full lips, blue eyes. Ben jumped back, startled. 

“There. I’ve gone ahead and frightened you. You live at Maiden’s Rest, don’t you?” His voice sounded gravelly, like it was ill-used. 

“Yes, I’ve inherited it. I’m Ben,” he said holding out his hand. 

The man stared down it with a look of strange longing. Sadness passed over his features followed by a soft smile. He reached out and shook it. It felt icy cold in Ben’s own. 

“You’ve been out here too long. Your hands are like ice!” Ben said, feeling a bit worried. The man’s color looked awfully poor. 

The man looked at him thoughtfully, “Yes, I have.” 

Ben studied his pale face and was worried that he wasn’t well. “Why don’t you come back with me to the house and warm up?”

The man’s face softened and he looked impossibly sad. “I can’t. I have to be going.”

Ben felt a strange disappointment. “You never told me your name?”

“Anakin.” He walked away soundlessly and disappeared into the mist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> If you'd like, let me know what you think!
> 
> Thanks to picavenger14 for beta reading this for me! Your help is greatly appreciated!


	2. The mist and moors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get interesting for our hero...

When Ben returned home, he felt heavy with exhaustion, and his head pounded miserably. He lay on the sofa and instantly fell asleep. When he woke up, it was dark. He rarely napped unless he was ill and wondered if he were coming down with something. He had to have slept for hours.

Ben got up and went to wash his face, studying himself in the mirror. There were strange violet circles under his eyes, and he was quite pale, well even more than his usual fair auburn coloring allowed, faint freckles across his cheeks more defined. He shook his head in confusion and walked out to the kitchen to have his dinner.

That night, everything changed. Ben woke up from odd dreams to the ominous sound of the floorboards creaking like footsteps. He got up from his bed and turned on the light. Nothing was there. He wandered through the rest of the cottage. It was empty and all was in place.

Unsettled, he got back into bed and closed his eyes. The floorboards creaked and groaned again, as if something was slowly walking towards him. He sat up and looked around the room. Nothing was there. His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest, like it might beat itself out of his throat.

The strange sounds abruptly stopped, and Ben was able to fall back asleep for a spell. This time, he was awoken by something different. Dripping.

Plop, plop, plop, the sound of heavy drops of water hitting the wood floors echoed through the room. It hadn’t been raining that night. He got up and turned on the light again. There was a puddle at the foot of the bed, thought nothing was dripping from the ceiling. He lay awake until dawn.

Once there was light in the sky, he went down to the kitchen and made tea. _What was that dripping?_ He wondered.

Looking outside, there was no clear evidence it had rained heavily. Ben went back up to his room and could see no crack or weakness in the ceiling near the foot of his bed. He looked back down at the floor, and the puddle was gone.

Ben tried to write that day, but his baffled and agitated mind was not able to produce anything coherent. He went outside and walked around the grounds a bit. At the back of the house were locked double doors to some kind of cellar; likely correlating to the inner locked door he had found the other night. He again tried all the keys and nothing fit.

The next night if anything, was worse. As darkness fell, he was overcome with a sense of pervasive dread. He lay in bed, stock-still and rigid under the blankets, trying to sleep by sheer force of will. This wasn’t successful, of course, and the minutes ticked by like separate eternities.

There were no creaking floorboards this time, but the dripping began again. Loud, echoing drops hit the floor, resonating like heartbeats or the distant drums of an approaching army.

The room felt frigid despite the fire downstairs, and he tried to hide under the blankets, shivering violently. He had the distinct feeling someone was in the room with him. He tried not to move at all until morning, as if somehow it would prevent the thing from noticing him. By the time blessed dawn arrived, there were several puddles were on the floor.

Ben dressed quickly and left the house. He felt the intense need to be anywhere but there, so he walked into town and made his way to the inn, sitting at a booth in the corner. The place was empty except for himself and smelt vaguely of stale beer and chips. The proprietress saw him and came over to him.

“You look terribly peaky, dear heart. Isn’t Mrs. Clarke feeding you well?”

“Too well. Poor night’s sleep is all. Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Of course, lamb. Would you like anything first?”

“Tea, please. One sugar.”

She bustled off and came back with a steaming mug, setting it down in front of him. She’d brought him a scone as well, plump with currents, and pushed it towards him.

“Here, you must keep up your strength. Now, what was it you’d like to know?”

“Do you know a young man named Anakin? Taller than me and likely a few years younger, dark blond hair, fair featured?” Ben said.

“No, not that I’m aware of. Unusual name, that. He could be from Middlesmoor or another neighboring village.”

“Perhaps. Do you know why the last tenants of Maiden’s Rest left?”

“They didn’t say much to me, something about the roof always leaking. They left in a hurry, though. Looked quite disturbed if you ask me.”

“One more thing. Do you know what happened to my uncle’s wife?”

“Oh, such a lovely flower was she. He said she ran off with a young man. Not sure if I believe it though. She just up and disappeared in a strange sort of a way. No one’s ever saw the likes of her again.”

“Ah, well thank you.” Ben hugged his hands around his mug, lost in thought.

An elderly man had entered the inn, and his informant wandered over to tend to him. He nibbled at his scone, laid some coins on the table, and left. None of the few shops were open and there was little else to do, so he started to walk, taking a roundabout way out towards the lake.

The sun had made a brief appearance this morning, but now the sky was dark and heavy with incipient rain. The fog started to roll in, blanketing the heather. He walked for hours in a mindless daze and then realized he was hopelessly lost. The inevitable rain had started and was now soaking his hair and dripping down his collar, rolling in rivulets down his back. He didn’t have his compass and his stomach growled piteously. He should have eaten that scone.

“Are you lost?”

Ben turned around and started violently. There was his Anakin, come up behind him without making a sound. He wore the same dark coat, shoulders hunched and desolate. Ben was relieved to no longer be alone.

“Turned around is all. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Typical for these parts. I’ll help you find your way”

“Thank you! I’ll be ever so grateful. I’m sure Mrs. Clarke has left something lovely for lunch; you should join me. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to,” Ben said.

Ben was lonely, and Anakin touched something deep inside him, something he usually kept to himself. Not even his mother knew of his preferences, though he supposed she suspected it.

Anakin smiled the sweetest, most wistful smile and looked down. “I would love to stay, but I can’t,” Anakin said.

He looked up again and studied Ben, remarking “You look so much like your uncle. Just like him, really. But you don’t have his temperament.”

Anakin reached out to almost touch Ben’s face but then relented. How Ben longed for that touch.

“I suppose I don’t. Is that a good thing?” Ben asked.

Ben agreed that he had his uncle’s coloring and general features. He and his mother had been twins and his mother had been quite young when Ben was born.

“It is. He was a handsome man, but had a horrible temper. Come then, you’ll catch your death out here.”

Ben tried to ask Anakin personal questions such as ‘where are you from’ but was only met by answers such as ‘here and there’ and ‘nowhere’. It seemed that Anakin didn’t want to talk.

Ben followed Anakin, who walked silently before him, a tall, dark figure straight out of a gothic romance. He occasionally turned and gave Ben a look he could only call longing. Ben arrived at the low fence surrounding the cottage and opened the gate. When he turned back around to say goodbye, he saw that Anakin had left, disappearing into the mist without a sound.

When Ben got inside, he was exhausted beyond measure, to the point he’d forgotten about his hunger. He collapsed fully dressed upon his bed and slept immediately. When he woke up, it was dark, and the moon was casting shadows through the window. The clouds must have cleared and the room was very cold.

Drip, drip, drip. So it began. It seemed to start in the hallway and move closer and closer. Ben steeled himself and opened his eyes. In the corner of the room, there was a figure.

It was all in black, hooded and shrouded, and dripping. What looked like long, dark hair hung out from under the hood, wet and tangled like seaweed. There was a small sliver of yellowed pale skin with a greenish grey hint to it. It came closer.

Not knowing what to do, Ben flipped on the light. “Who are you?” He called.

“What do you want?” he asked the being.

“Kenobi” it groaned as it lurched out of the room into the receding dark of the hallway, dry voice like sticks or bones rattling together.

Ben got up and turned on all the lights in the house. He was covered in cold sweat, heart racing. He lit what he hoped to be a roaring fire in the hearth. The wind had picked up, and branches kept hitting the windows like horrible bony fingers trying to claw their way in. He couldn’t stop shaking. How had it known his name? Did it think he was his uncle?

Ben decided he would stay up the rest of the night and try to sleep during the day. He’d have to get some rest before he’d try to figure any of this out.

He paced around, and tried to read. Writing was out of the question as he could not find any focus. In the morning, Mrs. Clarke arrived with her usual basket of food. She smiled at him and puttered about the kitchen and then came out, shaking her head at him.

“You’ve barely touched any of the food I left the last time. You need a wife to look after you. You can’t live on tea alone.”

“I suppose not. I’ve been, well I’ve been ill.” He had no better explanation for it. He couldn’t tell her he’d been seeing ghosts, she’d think he’d gone mad.

“You do look terrible, love. Shall I call for the doctor?”

“No. Nothing as bad as that. I think I’ll go rest.”

She gave him a worried look as he headed up the stairs. Ben lay down on his bed and fell into a dreamless sleep. When he woke up, it was dusk. He immediately sprang out of bed and turned on all the lights and decided he might as well try to write for a while. At some point, he fell asleep at his typewriter. The power had gone out, and he was left in the unforgiving darkness.

Ben began to have a strange dream that he was walking through the moors under a full, bright moon. His trousers were damp and his bare feet were being cut by stones and sticks. He kept stumbling over the uneven terrain, feet wet with blood and muck.

Some strange compulsion was pulling him foreword, as if he were not moving by his own volition. He looked ahead and saw the shrouded figure ahead of him, and he couldn’t help but follow. They passed through some brush and a branch caught him on the cheek, drawing blood.

He stared down at the red substance on his fingers and realized he was not dreaming. He tried to turn and run, but couldn’t, as if his limbs weren’t his own. The thing turned around and hissed at him through grey lips and blackened teeth.

“Padme?” He asked it on an impulse. The thing threw down its hood and shrieked, its rotting face a mockery of that beautiful woman’s visage. Whatever this was, it wasn’t her anymore.

In the distance, he could see the glittering reflection of the moon on the lake. He knew in that moment that she meant to drown him. He couldn’t stop walking.

Suddenly, as swiftly as a cloud passing by the moon, Anakin was there, in his dark coat. The compulsion broke, and Ben fell to the ground, panting and shuddering. Consciousness left him momentarily. As he fell, Anakin yelled something that Ben couldn’t quite catch to the specter, and it bared its teeth and hissed again, sidling away into the night.

Anakin knelt down beside him and turned him over on his back, gently caressing Ben’s cheek with his icy hand.

“Wake up, dear one, wake up. She can’t have you.”

Ben blinked and groggily sat up. The world tilted and spun around him. He was terribly cold.

Anakin patted his back. “There you are, you’ll be all right,” he murmured.

“Was that Padme?”

“No and yes. There’s nothing of her left in that creature. She was a gentle, kind soul.”

“What happened to her?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Your uncle drowned her in the lake and it turned her into something horrible. Those waters are cursed by something far older than the standing stones.”

“How do you know these things?” Ben’s mind was spinning in circles, none of them logical. There were so many things he should ask, but they wouldn’t quite come out

“I’ve been around these parts for a long while. I can’t seem to leave,” Anakin said, looking broken and forlorn.

Ben tried to wrap his head around that statement, but couldn’t. He continued to shake violently. He’d never felt so cold.

Anakin studied him, brows drawn. “What I do know is that you have to go home and warm up.”

Ben was wet with the night’s dew, and his naked feet looked blue in the moonlight, the soles darkened by blood mixed with dirt. As he stood, the world spun, and he promptly vomited bile. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. What had his quiet life came to?

He mindlessly followed Anakin back to the cottage, his gait stumbling. It took all his strength to stay upright and keep moving forward. Anakin kept looking back at him, his face like a man bereft. He occasionally reached out like he wanted to help, but then stopped himself. Ben’s addled mind couldn’t make sense of it, so he fumbled along till they reached the house.

At the gate, he knew Anakin would leave him. As he turned away, Ben asked, “How did you know my uncle?”

As Anakin walked away he answered with a voice heavy and solemn, “I loved him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you've enjoyed this so far.
> 
> Thanks again to the lovely picavenger14 for beta reading this and acting as a wise sounding board. Your help is always appreciated.
> 
> I'm @darthplodder on Tumblr if you want to yell.


	3. The lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this little ghost story and that the end is satisfying!
> 
> Happy Halloween if you celebrate!

Ben limped inside and removed his wet clothes with stiff, frozen fingers that might as well have been clubs. He drew himself a bath, which though tepid, felt scalding on his icy skin. He sunk into it and slowly unthawed, cleaning the lacerations on his poor, abused feet. As he warmed up, he pondered the strange events.

What did Anakin mean he couldn’t leave the moors? In what way did he love my uncle? How would they have even met? What did Padme have to do with any of this? These were all questions with no good answers. An unpleasant thought drifted into his mind. Part of him knew it to be truth, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. 

Ben napped with all the lights on until morning and then got dressed to go into town. As he looked in the mirror, he was shocked at his appearance. His trousers were quite loose and his face was hollow. He felt leaden with exhaustion. He forced himself to eat some toast and then wandered into town. He passed the churchyard where his uncle had been buried. What did you do? He wondered at the headstone. 

Ben walked into the town’s magisterial building that also served as a library. The two neighboring towns and Lady’s Veil shared a small newspaper. He looked back through the archives to the time around his uncle’s wife’s disappearance and found the article detailing Padme’s sudden absence. His uncle apparently had little to say about it to local constable; he’d thought maybe she ran off. 

Ben flipped through the following pages till he saw a startling image. There, on the front page, was Anakin. Young and lovely, in the same dark coat, there was no one else it could be. He pulled the paper out of the file with shaking hands. 

The headline read ‘Young Man from London Missing, Foul Play Suspected’. 

Ben read with nauseating dread as it described how Anakin been seen several times in Lady’s Veil in the weeks before he disappeared, and that the young man’s mother had verified that he was visiting friends there but had stopped checking in. She hadn’t known his friends’ names. 

His motorbike, with his belongings had been found abandoned out on the moors. It had only been a few weeks after Padme had vanished, and his uncle had died a few months later. His mother had told Ben that he’d drunk himself to death. 

Ben found that tears were running down his cheeks. He stumbled out of the building, glad that it was empty, and headed back to the cottage. The sun was shining and there was no mist or fog. Anakin was nowhere to be seen. Ben brushed the tears from his face. He must know what had happened.

He forced himself to eat a hearty dinner and sat by the fire a while, pondering his next move. He needed to set things right and would have to face this head on. 

Ben knew that the locked cellar held some secret, and was afraid to see what horrors awaited him there. He tried to shake open the locked door and tried all the keys again. He banged at the lock with a hammer, but it was too solidly made to budge. The only small axe he could find barely made a dent in the heavy wood. He fumed. He’d have to go about things another way.

Ben went up to his bedroom and sat on the bed. He turned off the lights and awaited the revenant of poor Padme. Of course, come midnight she came, black and dripping fetid water. She grinned and hissed at him, beckoning him to follow. The strange compulsion started again, and he obeyed. 

“Padme, why did this happen? How can I help you?” Ben asked.

Perhaps there was some tiny sliver of goodness or awareness left inside her. Perhaps she could be set free.

She turned and threw back her hood revealing her dead, rotten face covered in lank black hair, her mouth set in a horrible rictus and growled, “You must suffer as I did.” 

Ben imagined that she thought he was his uncle or maybe all his relatives would be cursed as he was. 

Ben followed her blindly as he did the previous night, unable to stop, like some kind of mindless automaton. He walked close behind her, footsteps inexorably bringing him onwards until he saw the lake. Gasping, Ben waded into the icy black water, breaking the moon’s silver sheen on the surface. The lake bottom was soft and yielding with rotted muck.

Terror gave way to a sort of calm as he continued out into the water. Warmth left him as he moved further under, first to his waist, and then to his mouth. Ben’s head went under, and he slowly sank down, deep below the surface. As water filled his mouth and throat, he looked up a last time and saw the moon. All went black. 

The next thing Ben knew, he was lying on the grass by the lake’s shore. He was cold beyond measure, but oddly still alive. He panted and shook, then rolled to his side and vomited up copious lake water. After this paroxysm, he collapsed back onto his back. How did he get here? The night was silent, no owls or birds called, and no wind rustled the heather. Padme was nowhere to be seen.

He knew that he couldn’t be alone. Shivering violently, he turned his head and saw Anakin sitting beside him, skin like ivory in the moonlight without a hint of pink. 

“Anakin, you’re dead. You’re a ghost.” Ben reached over and touched his face. It was icy and hard as wax. Even the air around him was noticeably cooler. 

Anakin looked thoughtful, then impossibly sad. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he appeared young and forlorn. 

“I suppose I am. I’ve guessed it for a while.” Anakin rubbed his face with his bone white hands.

I’m so glad that you saw me. No one could see me. No one would answer,” Anakin said.

Anakin took a deep, sobbing breath and continued. “I kept trying to find the town, but never could, just walked in endless circles on the moors thinking I had gone mad. I tried to go into the house, but she wouldn’t let me.”

Ben felt bereft, his heart breaking. He clasped Anakin’s face in his hands. Anakin leaned into him and kissed him so softly, gently. His lips were like ice, yet sweet. 

As they embraced, Ben could feel himself grow weaker, his vision more dim, his heartbeat slowed from its frantic pounding to a sonorous beat. Anakin seemed to notice and let go, backing away.

“I always wondered why I kept walking and walking. I could never find my way home. And then I saw you. You were the only thing that seemed real,” Anakin said, looking on at him with longing. 

Ben felt so weak. He couldn’t seem to lift his heavy, useless limbs. He tried to move closer to Anakin.

“I have to get you help,” Anakin said as he moved to stand up, but Ben grabbed his arm and pulled him down. 

“Tell me first. Tell me what happened.” Ben shivered and coughed up some more water. His lungs felt as if they were rattling in his chest. 

“I’ll tell you what I know. Just listen because I must be quick. You’re fading fast,” Anakin replied.

Anakin stilled himself as if he was deep in thought and then continued, “I loved your uncle and I grew to love Padme as well. I met your uncle at a museum in London, where his other home was, as you must know. He was silent, and brooding, and oh so handsome. An artist of course, and he wanted to paint me. I was intrigued and flattered, then utterly charmed. He invited me to his flat that he shared with Padme, where I spent many an evening. They seemed so wonderful at first, so warm, so clever. I fell in love with them easily during those nights. I couldn’t even say who I loved more, but then I realized that they were fine with sharing. It sounds so sordid, doesn’t it?” 

Anakin paused and studied his hands in the moonlight, then continued.

“Then they invited me to stay with them here. I rode my bike up and hoped to have a lovely, quaint time on the moors. It was wonderful for a while, and we spent time exploring the land by the lake and making love. Eventually your uncle grew jealous. When he drank, he had a terrible temper and couldn’t be reasoned with. He decided that Padme loved me more than himself. One night, in a drunken fit, he lured her out to the lake and drowned her, carrying her body back to the house with him. When he woke in the morning, he realized what he had done and rocked her body for hours, not believing her dead. I’ve never seen anything so horrible.” 

Anakin paused, then looked up at the moon and continued, “It was stupid, but I stayed with him because I was young and foolish and scared. Sometime later, I saw Padme during the night while your uncle was passed out drunk. She wasn’t quite as she is now but she wasn’t right. She was white as a corpse and her eyes were nothing but black coals. I followed her out to the lake, as you did. The last thing I remember is looking up at the moon,” Anakin said.

“There’s something in the lake. That’s why the locals keep away. Something older than the Christians or the Romans. Ancient and evil. It never forgets. It cursed her; it cursed us,” Anakin said as he looked warily towards it. “I’ve never seen it, but I can feel it lurking.” 

Ben looked over at him. He could see the sheen of the moon on the lake in the periphery of his vision, like the bright reflection off a polished knife’s edge, but nothing marred the surface. He no longer cared about ghosts or curses. It was getting harder and harder to breath, harder to remain conscious. He only knew that he didn’t want Anakin to go and leave him alone with just the moors and the cold, bright moon.

“Stay here with me. Just stay.” Ben pleaded.

Anakin was so beautiful in the moonlight, and Ben had no strength left to fight the creeping numbness coming over his body. What did Ben have to go back to? His lonely life stuck in the tedium of academia? It all seemed pointless. He was quickly losing feeling in his limbs, as if his life was being leached into the ground he was laying on. Perhaps he could stay here with Anakin forever, wandering the moors together. 

Anakin shook his head as he gently caressed Ben’s cheek and then stood up. 

“No, I can’t. You’re alive, and I’m hurting you. My presence drains you. You’re not him, though you have his face. You’re beautiful and dear and you need to live,” Anakin said. 

“Anakin, don’t go…” Ben said, as he used the last of his strength to reach towards him. 

Anakin looked down at him, face stricken. “Live, Ben. Please live,” he said. 

Anakin walked off into the dark, and Ben never saw him again. 

As Anakin left, Ben felt a sudden weight in his pocket and reached in to pull out a black, damp skeleton key. It hadn’t been there before, and he knew what it opened. With that thought, Ben sunk back onto the ground, and his mind again went black. 

When Ben woke up, he was no longer on the cold, hard dirt but on a warm, soft bed. He partially opened his eyes and looked about a small, unfamiliar room. He glanced over and saw someone sitting at the bedside beside him. It was the innkeeper’s wife. He tried to sit up, which led to a fit of coughing. 

“Easy lamb, you’ve been quite ill. Gave the doctor some trouble, you did.”

He looked down to see that he was dressed in nightclothes. “Where are my trousers?” Ben said, looking frantically about the room.

“There was a key. I must have it.” Ben tried to get up but nearly fell off the bed. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

“Now stop that, you’ve been deathly ill for a week. You’re not going anywhere right now. I’ll get your trousers if you sit still,” said the innkeeper’s wife. 

He obeyed and leaned back against the headboard, trying to slow his breathing. She did as promised, and handed them to him. He reached into the pocket and pulled out the key. It was still there and still felt vaguely damp, a heavy weight in his hand. 

“What happened to you? They found you half dead, out by the lake,” She asked.

Ben twisted the key in his hands, contemplating its meaning. He felt panic rising in his chest.

“We have to go back! We have to free them!” Ben’s shout caused him to dissolve into a series of hacking coughs. 

She patted his back and replied, “Be calm, love. You’ll make yourself worse. Who are you talking about?” 

Once he was able, he told her everything. He didn’t care anymore if anyone thought he was mad. He had to save them from their doomed existence, lost on the moors.

“Don’t you see, we have to find them!” Ben said, at the end of his tale. 

She looked at him thoughtfully. “I believe you. That lake has always given me the shivers, and that house has been an odd place since your uncle died. Give me the key, lad, and my husband and son will go up to the cottage and look in that cellar.”

“Not at night, please...” he begged. He couldn’t imagine losing anyone to the same fate. 

“No lad, its broad daylight, and you’re the only guest. I’ll send them now,” she replied.

She handed him some water, which he gratefully drank. He sank back into the bed and fell asleep. It would be a long recovery. 

Ben later learned that they had indeed opened the cellar, which had contained a large trunk. Within were both a male and female corpse, largely mummified and locked in an eternal embrace as if someone had lovingly arranged them that way. The clothes they were wearing helped to identify them. Once arrangements had been made and a proper funeral was had, they were buried together under a holly tree in the far corner of the churchyard. On their tombstone was written ‘the Doomed Lovers’. 

Ben had still been too ill to attend the funeral, but he walked out to the so named standing stones on his last day in Lady’s Veil. All his things had been sent back to his mother’s house, and he was almost ready to depart. 

On this rare day, the sun had broken through the clouds and burned off the mist. The stones stood still as always, casting long shadows across the moors. He left a bouquet of primroses at their base and turned and headed back to the inn, the image of the Doomed Lovers burned forever in his mind. He’d catch the train in the morning and never return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Thanks to the always wonderful and dear picavenger14 who beta read this and provided some useful insight. I've changed it a bit since then, so anything untoward is obviously my own fault :D
> 
> As always, if you like, let me know what you think!


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